What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. Blueskin drew the knife across his throat a second time, widening and deepening the wound; and wrenching back the head to get it into a more favourable position, would infallibly have severed it from the trunk, if the officers, who by this time had recovered from their terror, had not thrown themselves upon him, and withheld him. “It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed. "I have not told you half. Lucy could see the resemblance of Martin to both of his parents as plain as day.
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